


we bring our souls in close

by abovetheruins



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-04-30 00:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: He’s used to Cari and Lucy being close: roughhousing, chasing each other, curling up together when he and Ryan meet for movie nights, but he’s never – he’s nevertouchedher. He’s never gotten close.It’s just not something youdo. With anyone. Not unless you have permission, anyway, and even then, it’s a big fucking deal, a private thing.He can’t even imagine someone else laying their hands on Lucy, seeing her coiling around their fingers, her scales slipping over their skin. Or at least he couldn’t, not until he woke up to see Ryan’s daemon cuddled up to his fucking chest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Um, hi, new fandom! Didn’t expect to end up writing BFU fic but three weeks and a few rounds of binge watching later, here I am. You can blame (2) things for this: the [snake massage video](https://youtu.be/Nrp_MJJJ9qw), and my insatiable love of daemon AUs. 
> 
> If you’re unfamiliar with the His Dark Materials series or daemons as a whole, check out the [wiki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D%C3%A6mon_%28His_Dark_Materials%29)! 
> 
> Title from David Cook’s Ghost Magnetic.

Shane wakes to darkness and the musty scent of old furniture and rotted wood. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, feeling a sneeze coming on, and shifts around in his sleeping bag in a fruitless effort to find a more comfortable position. The padding doesn't do much to cushion his back from the cold, hard floor, and combined with the musk of damp and rot from their dilapidated surroundings, he's surprised he's managed to get any sleep at all.

He peers across the scant distance between his sleeping bag and Ryan's, squinting suspiciously at his co-host's apparent stillness. Ryan's curled on his side, his back to Shane, and if Shane didn't know any better - didn't know _Ryan_ any better - he'd almost believe he was asleep. The lack of harsh breathing and the crumple of a water bottle between nervous fingers would be enough of an indication that Ryan's somehow managed to dose off, if it weren't for the steady pad of tiny paws tracing a path over Shane's shins.

He lifts his head to check, and sure enough, a small, furry form is pacing at his feet, drifting from Ryan's side to his and back again. Large ears flick back and forth atop a vulpine head, and though it's impossible to tell in the dark without his contacts, Shane would bet money that all that cream-colored fur is bristled all to hell and back.

He sighs. Somewhere near the vicinity of his ear, a hissing rasp echoes him, and a pale head pokes out from the dark cavern of his hood. "Are we leaving already? And I had such high hopes for tonight."

"Be nice, Luce," Shane murmurs, nudging her with his chin, and then, a little louder, "You doin' okay, Ry?"

Ryan's shoulders twitch. Definitely awake, then. "Huh? Oh yeah, I'm good. I'm great. You good?"

It's on the tip of Shane's tongue to call bullshit - there has never been a situation in their entire ghost hunting career where _Ryan_ , _haunted house_ , and _good_ have ever existed in conjunction with one another - but the tense line of Ryan's back suppresses the urge. "Cari's gonna wear a track in the floor if she keeps this up," he says instead. At the sound of her name, the fox daemon's ears perk up, her constant pacing drawing to a sudden halt as she peers back at him. At the same moment Ryan rolls onto his side, and Shane nearly laughs. He can't fucking help it - they're both wearing the same guilty expression, as if he's caught them in the middle of some nefarious plot. As if they don't go through this exact scenario every time they sleep over in one of these locations.

"I'm just keeping watch," Cari grumbles, darting up the length of Ryan's sleeping bag to settle at his throat. She keeps shooting glances at the expanse of dark hallway leading off of the living room – directly toward the bedroom where a couple had been terrorized by a poltergeist and ultimately driven from their home, according to Ryan's research. He’d spent at least ten minutes before bed fretting over the open door before stomping over and slamming it shut with a decisive huff, telling Shane, “Not a word, Madej. Not one word.”

Shane moves onto his side, tucking his arm beneath his head. Lucy takes the opportunity to slip free of his hood, coiling at the hollow of his throat. Her pale scales gleam in the darkness of the room. "You wanna bail?" he asks, and for once there’s no trace of teasing in his tone. In all honesty he wouldn't mind ditching this place himself, and thinks longingly of the beds waiting for them back in their hotel room.

Ryan makes a face. "I'd be a piss poor investigator if I kept wimping out halfway through the night," he mutters, though he's obviously tempted, if the flick of his eyes toward the hallway is anything to go by.

"You could always blame Shane," Lucy suggests, her earlier bemusement absent for now. She can be a little shit sometimes, and she takes just as much enjoyment out of teasing Ryan and Cari as Shane does, but she knows when to draw the line. Shane doesn’t miss the grateful look Cari shoots in her direction.

Ryan huffs out a laugh. “And say what? That he actually got spooked? The Boogaras would never let him live it down.”

Shane shrugs. “My pride can take the hit.” If it means that Ryan will actually get some sleep and not spend the rest of the night in a ball of anxious fear, he’s willing to make that sacrifice.

Ryan studies him for a moment, fingers absentmindedly stroking the ruff of cream-colored fur at Cari’s shoulders, before shaking his head. “It’s just a few more hours. I can make it.” His lips tilt into a smile, small but no less sincere than his usual toothy grins. “But thanks. For the offer.”

“Anytime,” Shane returns, smiling himself. At his throat, Lucy lets out a pleased hum, soft enough that only Shane can hear. He doesn’t know why it makes him flush, a band of warmth pulling tight in his chest, but it’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling. "If it makes you feel any better,” he muses, ignoring the sensation for now, “we're more likely to die from the ceiling collapsing on us than a ghost.” He sniffs the air and makes a face at the ever-present stench of decay. "Or mold inhalation. Now _there's_ a way to go."

Ryan wheezes next to him. "That's actually pretty fucking terrifying," he says, still smiling. "Now I'll just be imagining the - the fucking ceiling falling on us while we sleep. Christ."

Shane grins in the darkness. "What if that was the plan all along? Send us into this shitty house and wait for it to cave in on us. Catch it all on film. Think of the _views_ , Ryan. I bet the whole crew is in on it!"

Ryan's shoulders shake, peals of soft laughter escaping his throat. "Oh shit, Shane."

"We've been duped, Ryan!" That sets Ryan off again, and they spend the next few minutes tossing theories at each other as to why this latest ghost hunting excursion is all an elaborate ploy to kill them off, each one more ridiculous than the last: that they’ve grown too popular and their coworkers want them gone, that the house was actually condemned and the company had sent them in anyway, hoping to capitalize on their tragic deaths once the ceiling collapsed on them, or – Ryan’s favorite contribution – that their fans had collectively taken out a hit on Shane in an attempt to put an end to the Hot Daga and Ryan was just an unfortunate casualty.

“It’s the price of fame, baby,” Shane laments, in-between bouts of laughter and increasingly outlandish scenarios. Cari watches them both through dark, sleepy eyes, and Lucy twines lazily around Shane’s fingers, her scales cool against his skin. “Once you reach the top there’s only one way to go.”

Ryan snorts, shifting onto his back. “It’s been a good run, at least,” he says, lips twitching with the remnants of his mirth. He opens his mouth to say something else, but it clamps shut with a muffled click as a distant creak echoes from the other room. His shoulders immediately bunch up around his ears, tension thick in his frame as he peers into the darkness of the house. At his side, Cari’s fur bristles, her large ears pricked forward and eyes trained on the hallway leading to the bedroom.

_Fucking house_ , Shane thinks uncharitably, frustration setting his teeth on edge. It’s nothing but the foundation settling, though it’ll be more than enough to drive Ryan back into a frenzy of fear and paranoia if Shane doesn’t act fast.

Lucy's body constricts around his fingers, just the barest hint of pressure, and all at once he has an idea. He nearly dismisses it as soon as it enters his mind, but he's tired and sore and he'd like to preserve the lighthearted atmosphere that had settled over them. He’d also like to get some fucking sleep. So fuck it.

He raises his arm, drawing Ryan’s attention back to him. "Alright, Bergara, bring it in."

He's got to give it to Ryan - he's got the 'every word out of your mouth is ridiculous and I regret knowing you’ look down perfectly.

“What are you – ?” Ryan starts, only to be cut off by another, slightly more ominous creak coming from the depths of the house. His voice trails off with a muffled curse.

Shane shoots a look at the ceiling and spares a moment of very real worry wondering if their previous theories about the faulty structure of the house had been so far off the mark. And then he glances at Ryan’s face, his furrowed brows and wide eyes, teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard it’s turned white, and his resolve hardens.

"C'mon,” he says, waving Ryan forward with a curl of his hand. “We both know you're gonna lie there and work yourself into a lather unless we take drastic action."

"And drastic action includes you... hugging me?" Ryan asks slowly, unconvinced.

"I'm working with what I've got, Ryan. And what I've got are these." He wiggles his other arm free from beneath his head and waves his hands between them. “It’s either this or you spend the rest of the night jumping at shadows. Or we call it quits and head back to the hotel. What’s it gonna be?” He gestures to the depths of the house and then to himself. “Pick your poison, Bergara.”

Ryan’s head thumps back against his pillow. Score one for Shane; at least he’s not fixated on the spooky hallway anymore. “You know, I’d be a lot more impressed by your willingness to be my human meat shield if you didn’t actually think ghosts were bullshit.”

That’s enough to startle a laugh out of Shane. “Oh shit, can I add that to my business cards? Shane Madej: Ghost Hunter. Human Meat Shield.”

“Fuck off,” Ryan wheezes, rolling his eyes, though he does shuffle a little closer. Lucy twines around Shane’s neck to give him room, and Cari shuffles to the warmth of Ryan’s pillow, freeing up the space between them so that Ryan can settle in against Shane’s side.

It’s a little awkward at first; they’re not exactly accustomed to sleeping so close, and it takes a few moments of rearranging limbs and shuffling sleeping bags until they finally find a comfortable position, both of them curled up on their sides and facing each other. Their knees knock, arms tucked together. Despite the rough, hard floor beneath them and the novelty of their position, it’s surprisingly comfortable. Warm.

“Yep,” Ryan mumbles, the first to break the silence after they settle down. “This is totally normal.”

“Just bros bein’ bros,” Shane agrees, grinning as Ryan rolls his eyes. Cari’s tucked her paws over the arch of Ryan’s neck, her tiny jaws parting and large ears pressing flat against her skull as she yawns. Another point in Shane’s favor; if his daemon has settled enough to submit to the exhaustion of her human, then surely Ryan’s fears have eased enough to see him through the rest of the night.

Ryan huffs out a laugh. His breath is warm on Shane's collar. "I'm gonna have to cut out so much of this footage," he says, though he makes no move to extract himself.

Shane makes a shushing sound, already feeling drowsy. "No talking, Ryan. Only sleeping. Unless the ceiling caves in. Wake me up for that, would you? Wouldn’t want to miss it."

Ryan laughs, a soft, easy thing. “Sure thing, big guy. Sure thing.”

 

 

Shane wakes to pale morning light slipping through the cracked blinds and a warm weight against his back. He blinks for a few seconds, wincing at the ache in his shoulders and hips. Christ, he’s going to feel like so much shit today. Still, they’d made it to morning, no ghouls or crumbling ceilings to speak of after their little late night chat. Sweet, sweet success.

He stretches out his legs, working the stiffness from his limbs, and takes stock of his surroundings. Clearly they had shifted some time in the night, likely in an unconscious attempt to escape the discomfort of the truly fucking terrible floor – next time he’s petitioning for an air mattress to be included with the rest of their gear, if only to see the look on Ryan’s face – and have up wound up with Shane curled on his opposite side with Ryan plastered to his back. There also appears to be an arm wrapped around his waist.

Huh. He’d never taken himself for the little spoon before. It’s not half-bad.

_Annnd that’s my cue to get up_ , he thinks.

It takes a bit of groping across the floor before his fingers catch on his glasses case. He fumbles them free and slips them on, blinking to clear the haze from his vision. He craves caffeine. His kingdom for caffeine. They’ll have to make a stop for essentials before they set out on the long drive home.

The weight against his front shifts. He glances down, expecting to see Lucy coiled up beside him, and freezes.

Lucy _is_ there, the early morning sunlight turning her pale scales a soft gold, her weight familiar against his stomach, but she isn’t his only bedmate.

Cari lays pressed up against him, too, curled into a ball at his sternum. Lucy’s head rests by her neck, tucked against her fur, their soft breathing audible in the absolute fucking silence that has descended on Shane.

That’s a lie; his head and heart are far from quiet. There’s the padding of his sleeping bag between them, no inch of her fur actually touching him, but that hardly seems to matter when he can still _feel_ her, her weight warm against him. Warm and _small_. He’s never gotten over how goddamn _tiny_ Ryan’s daemon is, small enough to ride in the pocket of his hoodie when they’re out on location, curling up in a ball that barely takes up any space on Ryan’s desk when they’re in the office. Sometimes he teases Ryan for it, usually after Ryan’s hit him with another jab at his own height. It’s so _easy_ ; he doesn’t have to say a thing, just shoots a look at Cari that has Ryan seizing up, warning, “Don’t you fucking dare, Madej – “ which is nearly as hilarious as any jibe Shane could come up with. Despite the size of his arms Ryan Bergara does not a threatening figure make.

He’s used to Cari and Lucy being close: roughhousing, chasing each other, curling up together when he and Ryan meet for movie nights, but he’s never – he’s never _touched_ her. He’s never gotten close.

It’s just not something you _do_. With anyone. Not unless you have permission, anyway, and even then, it’s a big fucking deal, a private thing.

He can’t even imagine someone else laying their hands on Lucy, seeing her coiling around their fingers, her scales slipping over their skin. Or at least he couldn’t, not until he woke up to see Ryan’s daemon cuddled up to his fucking chest. Had she drifted there during the night on her own? Shit, had _he_ moved her there in his sleep?

Had Ryan?

“Shane?”

He nearly jumps, half-expecting to see Ryan leaning over him, asking him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing getting so close to Cari. Too close. But it’s only Lucy, peering up at him through slitted eyes. His distress is a palpable thing, to have roused her from sleep.

“Luce, what the fuck – ?” he starts, grimacing as Ryan shifts against his back. He holds his breath, waiting, but Ryan doesn’t stir again. Still asleep then.

Lucy peers down at Cari, her tongue flicking in the air. She’s quiet for a moment, surveying the scene with none of the apparent panic and confusion that’s nearly making Shane sick, before she murmurs, “Calm down.”

“I am calm,” Shane hisses, clearly the paragon of composure.

Lucy gives him a look. Shane knows that her eyebrows would be raised in the universal sign of _I don’t believe you even a little bit_ , if she actually had any. Eyebrows, that is.

Fucking Christ, he’s starting to sound like Ryan. His brain definitely feels like it’s melting, at any rate.

“You’ll wake them both if you’re not careful,” she continues, pointedly not calling him out on his overall lack of calm. With a rasp of scales over cloth she carefully maneuvers herself between him and Cari, shifting the fox daemon away from his chest softly enough not to wake her.

Shane releases a harsh breath, taking the same care to remove Ryan’s arm from his waist before he nearly scrambles from the confines of his sleeping bag. His heart is beating a mile a minute, the flood of static that had descended in his head as soon as he saw Cari receding in tiny increments until he almost feels numb from it. He _does_ jump as Ryan mumbles in his sleep, his hand groping at the empty space beside him where Shane had once been before falling still.

“Are you alright?” Lucy asks. It’s a question that doesn’t truly need an answer – not a verbal one, at least. Not for her.

Shane gives her one, anyway. “Yeah. I’m – I’m good. We’re good. Are we good, Luce?”

Lucy gives him a look of such affectionate concern that he can’t help but reach out to her, allowing her to twine around his arm until she can reach the comfort of his shoulders. He feels grounded with her weight curled around his neck. Normal.

“We’re good,” she murmurs, her tongue flicking against his cheek in a familiar gesture of comfort. “Though you don’t look it,” she can’t help but add.

Shane breathes a laugh, ignoring how shaky it is. “Oh? How do I look?”

Lucy doesn’t skip a beat. “Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

His bark of laughter is too loud and too sudden, but he can’t contain it. “Bite your fucking tongue, Luce. And don’t tell Ryan, holy shit.”

“Don’t tell Ryan what?” Ryan mumbles. He’s in the midst of stretching, a yawn escaping before he peers blearily over at Shane. His hair’s a mess, eyes squinted as they adjust to the morning light. He has lines etched onto his cheek from his pillow.

“Don’t tell Ryan that the bedroom door is open,” Shane says immediately.

Ryan yelps, “Wait, what – ?” and jerks out of his sleeping bag, eyes wild as he scans the hallway. Cari yips as she’s jarred roughly awake, hackles up and ears flicking madly. One glance at the bedroom door – still closed, of course – and Shane is treated to the full force of a truly spectacular glare from Ryan and Cari both. “Oh, you fucking _dick_.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your human meat shield, Ryan,” Shane simpers, clucking his tongue. “I risked my life for you last night.”

“Shut up, Shane.” It’s a groan of utter defeat, followed by a not-so-silent, “Dick. The biggest of dicks. The supreme dick,” as Ryan wiggles free of his sleeping bag.

“Oh, you _flatterer_ ,” Shane breathes, wheezing as Ryan nearly shrieks. The rest of the morning passes in a blur of veiled threats and the busy work of packing up equipment to be carted out and stowed in the car.

If Shane keeps his distance, being careful not to inadvertently brush against Ryan or even come close to crossing paths with Cari, Lucy is the only one to notice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you guys so, so much! I'm always nervous when I post fic for a new fandom, and all of the feedback I received for the first chapter made me feel right at home! To everyone who read, commented, or left a kudos, thank you! I hope you enjoy the newest chapter!
> 
> ALSO THERE IS??? FANART? OF MY FIC???? And you should all go [check it out](http://void-bee.tumblr.com/post/173440438891/reeeeeally-quick-and-suuuuper-sloppy-pic-of-ryan) and shower void-bee with love, because seriously, it's fucking amazing <3

It’s a relief to slip into his own bed, always is after a night spent tossing and turning in some haunted hellhole. Ryan’s exhausted from both the long drive home and a restless night scanning every dark corner for a poltergeist, despite how well he had slept after his conversation with Shane, and as he pulls the covers up over his chest his entire body sags in blissful relief, practically melting into the mattress. He feels like he could sleep for a week. 

So of course he finds it nigh impossible to actually _fall_ asleep. He ponders the darkness of his ceiling for a time, enjoying the coolness of the sheets against his skin as his brain rifles through the day’s events in an attempt to tire itself out. 

Shane had been kind of quiet on the drive back, and though Ryan hadn’t thought much of it at the time he can’t help but contemplate on it now. They had both been tired and sore from spending the night on a hard wooden floor, of course, and ready to be home, so it wasn’t like it was that unusual. The excitement of the hunt (or, in Shane’s case, the excitement of riling Ryan up) could only sustain them for so long before they were ready to just crash and be done with it, after all.

He had figured a few rounds of caffeine and some good food would loosen Shane’s lips, but though the diner they had stopped at for a late breakfast had had both in spades, Ryan had barely been able to get more than a few sentences out of him. Their usual post-investigation banter had fallen flat, even as Ryan tried to argue that they had definitely captured evidence of a ghostly presence, if not outright poltergeist activity. 

“Are you okay, dude?” he had asked eventually, after he’d had to repeat himself twice to get Shane’s attention. “Did you not get anymore sleep last night? You’re totally out of it.”

“No,” Shane had answered, reaching for his coffee and taking a long sip. His eyes had been distant, miles away. “I got a couple of hours sleep. Just ready to be home, I guess.”

“I get it,” Ryan had answered, accepting Shane’s explanation easily enough and resolving to give the big guy some peace and quiet. He had taken to scrolling through the footage and photos he’d captured on his phone, the muffled din of the diner filtering in softly around them. T.J. and the rest of the crew were in the booth behind theirs, and Ryan had been about to turn around to ask them about something, when movement out of the corner of his eye had captured his attention.

It was just Cari and Lucy, tucked together on the table and basking in the early morning sun. It was the sort of sight Ryan had seen nearly every day of their friendship – he and Shane were close and so their daemons were close, comfortable in one another’s presence. It was the same with T.J. and the crew or their other coworkers, though admittedly to a different extent. He was used to seeing Cari buddying up to his friends’ daemons. It was normal.

It was the softness of the scene that had truly struck him. Cari’s nose had been tucked against Lucy’s cheek, Lucy’s tail curled around the fox daemon’s as they dozed on the tabletop. It was sweet, the way the sunlight warmed Lucy’s pale scales and turned Cari’s soft fur to riotous shades of gold. They had seemed so perfectly content to be wrapped up together like that. Ryan remembers it had made him smile, and he’d lifted his eyes to Shane’s to say something about it – he doesn’t remember what now, only to be struck anew by the look on Shane’s face. 

His brows had been furrowed over dark eyes, the line of his shoulders tense and stiff. He had been staring at their daemons, expression unreadable, and Ryan had silently gone back to his phone, unknowing what that look meant but not really wanting to find out. They hadn’t really talked much after that, other than to exchange goodbye’s and see you Monday’s when Ryan had dropped Shane off at his apartment.

What the hell had that look even meant, Ryan wonders, chewing absently on his bottom lip. It hadn’t been anger, or annoyance, closer to discomfort than anything else. But what was there to be uncomfortable about? Their daemons had always been close. No one else batted an eye at them. Shane certainly never had before. 

No answers are forthcoming from his bedroom ceiling, of course, and Ryan sighs as he officially gives up on sleep. He's clearly too wired to nod off just yet, even though exhaustion hangs heavy from every limb. He might as well get up and be productive. 

He winds up camped out on his couch in the living room, his headphones on and the footage from the house uploading on his laptop. With lack of anything better to do, he might as well make some headway on the next episode.

Most of what he reviews is standard fare for the ghoul boys: the occasional suspect creak or thud that Shane immediately rationalizes away as clothes rustling or the house settling or the fucking _wind_ , ominous shadows that even Ryan can admit are probably only ominous because they're exacerbated by the dilapidated state of the house, and half an hour of Shane plugging his ears against the shriek of the spirit box while Ryan attempts to coax answers from whatever spirits may be with them.

Ryan skims through most of it. He has the rest of the weekend to really dig deep and decide what clips to include in the episode, but he makes note of any segments that might contain compelling evidence so he can compile them later. Cari dozes on the back of the couch while he works, her nose tucked against her front paws.

He hesitates when he comes across the overnight footage. There's not much point in reviewing it; even if anything had happened, they wouldn't really be able to use any of it in the episode, not without some heavy editing on Ryan’s part. 

That doesn't stop him from pressing play, though. He watches Shane shift awake in his sleeping bag, watches his own rigid form and Cari pacing back and forth at their feet. He feels a stab of embarrassment at how obvious it had been that he was freaking out – the look on his face and his death grip on his holy water bottle was evidence enough of that. He’s a little surprised, but secretly pleased, that Shane hadn't called him out on it, that instead of teasing him for his fear Shane had made such an effort to distract him from it. His lips curl into a smile as he listens to their whispered conversation, and he shakes his head fondly at the sound of their laughter. He had to give Shane credit - as much as his unceasing skepticism frustrated Ryan sometimes, he _did_ have a knack for making him laugh.

And for offering Ryan a distraction exactly when he needed it. Their ridiculous conversation had definitely taken Ryan’s mind off of their surroundings and his fear, at least until the noises had started up and sent him spiraling into paranoia all over again. Well, nearly. Shane had managed to keep the worst of his fear at bay, though his methods had been... surprising, to say the least.

It wasn't like they hadn't slept in the same space together, or even in the same bed, though there had always been a barrier between them. There had been no barrier last night.

And it had been... nice.

More than nice. As fearful as Ryan had been before, it hadn't taken long for him to fall asleep once he had shuffled over to Shane's side. He'd slept through the rest of the night that way, only waking when the soft warmth of the morning sun and Shane’s voice had roused him from sleep. He’d barely even moved, he realizes as he fast-forwards through the footage, which is a surprise in itself considering how often he tosses and turns whenever he does manage to fall asleep in these places.

His hits play at the first sign of movement, curious. At first it's only Shane, twisting around until he's facing the opposite side, his back to Ryan. Ryan watches his on-screen counterpart shuffle closer, tossing his arm over Shane's waist, and oh. Okay. So that happened.

Tiny paws climbing onto his shoulder nearly startle him, though it’s only Cari, her cheek brushing against his as she peers down at the screen. "You're warm," she chirps, amusement swimming in her dark eyes as Ryan coughs, rubbing surreptitiously at his cheek. 

It's no big deal. He's a clingy sleeper and Shane was close, simple as that. Nothing to get all weird about. 

He tells Cari as much, ignoring her quiet huff of laughter. He watches for a few moments longer, focusing less on their surroundings and more on the huddled forms of himself and Shane, pressed together as naturally as if they’d curled into that position a hundred times before. It’s almost funny, seeing Shane’s long limbs all folded up and tucked against Ryan’s chest. It doesn’t look entirely comfortable, but Shane’s sleeping like a baby, his face slack and his lips parted slightly as he breathes. 

Ryan suppresses a yawn as he continues to watch, his eyelids feeling heavy for the first time all night. It’s due more to the late hour than anything else, he’s sure, but it makes him chuckle to imagine telling Shane that it was his goofy face, all lax and serene in slumber, that finally managed to put Ryan to sleep. 

He reaches for his laptop, deciding to give sleep a try again, when another flash of movement on the screen catches his eye. 

It's Cari, climbing over his shoulder and padding down the length of his side. Ryan doesn't think much of it; she's as restless as he is when they stay overnight at haunted locations, and he assumes she's just looking for another spot to bed down.

He doesn't expect her to scramble over Shane's side, and his chest goes tight as she tucks herself against Shane’s stomach, her paws kneading at his sleeping bag before she settles down to sleep. 

She spends the rest of the night there, her small body completely dwarfed by Shane's, curled up between him and Lucy. Lucy, who lifts her head from the coil of her body only once, and then presses her nose to Cari's side and goes still. 

Ryan watches the screen with wide eyes, wondering if he's imagining what he's seeing. The ache in his chest expands as he watches Shane breathe, Cari’s small body shifting with each exhale, but he can’t decide whether the sensation is painful or not.

"I was careful." Cari's voice is soft, a soothing lilt against his ear. How often had he held her close when he was a child, comforted by her voice? No matter what form she took, no matter how big or small, her voice had always remained the same, a balm against the fear and anxiety Ryan could never seem to shake. 

"Why - " he starts, only to trail off as he realizes that he has no idea what to say. 

"They make us feel safe," Cari says simply, _easily_ , as if the answer was obvious. 

Ryan’s throat works as he searches for a response, though none are forthcoming. He can't deny it, not when he feels the truth of her words deep in his bones – no, deeper still, in that space where he and she exist as one, even as she roams freely at his side. Half of the reason he’s able to charge headfirst into crumbling asylums and haunted hospitals and actual _demon-infested houses_ \- other than his need to capture evidence of the paranormal – is the surety that Shane will always be right behind him, a tall, gangly buffer against everything that goes bump in the night. Maybe it’s ridiculous, considering how often Shane antagonizes the entities they’re trying to contact, but it’s also true: Ryan feels safe with Shane by his side. 

But there’s a difference between feeling safe with him and wanting him to – to – 

"Do you want him to touch you?" Ryan’s voice comes out in a croak. It's not the question he expected to ask, yet it’s the one he's suddenly desperate to have answered. 

Cari nuzzles beneath his chin, her small body curling around his throat. She's warm, but so is he, his face and neck flushed with heat.

"Do you want him to?" she asks, soft and hushed, like they're sharing a secret. 

Ryan doesn't know how to answer that. It should be an obvious no. No one has ever touched his daemon but himself – none of his family members or exes or any of his friends. He’s as protective of Cari as Cari is of him, and to imagine someone else curling their fingers in her fur makes his skin crawl. 

So why can’t he say it? _Of course I don’t. It would be wrong. It would **feel** wrong_.

Wouldn’t it? 

Ryan tries to imagine it: Cari pressing up into Shane's palm, his long fingers nestled in her fur. He imagines her twining around Shane's neck like she tends to do with him, her ears flicking against his cheek and making the skin around Shane’s eyes crinkle at the ticklish touch. 

The ache in his chest flares hot and nearly painful, but it’s not disgust that Ryan’s feeling.

"I... I don't know," he breathes. It feels like a lie, a deflection, and Cari hums against his cheek, unfooled.

"Would you touch Lucy?" she asks. "If Shane allowed it?"

He shouldn’t do it, but Ryan pictures Lucy twining around his neck, her scales smooth and cool against his skin, and his face burns.

“I couldn’t – _he_ wouldn’t – “ He’s babbling, watching Shane’s sleeping face on the screen, watching both of their daemons slumber on beside him, tucked together like they’ve never known any other way to be. 

What would that even _feel_ like, he wonders. Holding another person’s daemon, being allowed that closeness – the closest you could ever be to somebody else, feeling the warmth and the breadth of their soul beneath the palms of your hands. His body flushes hot and then cold at the thought of it – it’s too much, too big and too vast to even contemplate, and he shouldn’t bother entertaining thoughts like that when they wouldn’t –

What? Wouldn’t happen? 

Didn’t that imply that he wanted them to?

“I don’t – “ he starts, reaching over to fast forward through the footage. Watching Cari sleep so close to Shane – too close but not close enough? Fuck, what is he even thinking right now? – makes him feel shades of the same sensations that wrack his body whenever he’s hunting ghosts: chills and heart palpitations and the distinct impression that his mind is melting. 

He jabs at the play button as Shane moves on screen, however, unable to help himself, and he watches with wide eyes as Shane wakes slowly, stretching his long limbs in the confines of his sleeping bag. He watches as Shane fumbles for his glasses, his eyes sleepy and soft behind his lenses after he slips them on. He watches as Shane glances down, spotting Lucy curled up against him in slumber. Spotting Cari. He watches as Shane goes very, very still. 

He watches Shane’s face, watches as all traces of sleep drain away, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. He watches as Lucy rouses, speaks to Shane in her peculiar voice, a soft, low hiss designed to soothe her human. Ryan watches as she carefully shifts Cari away. 

And he watches as Shane wiggles free of his sleeping bag, scrambling away from Cari – from Ryan – with a look Ryan’s never seen before on his face. A look Ryan knows all too well, having seen it on his own face in footage from haunted asylums and hospitals and prisons across the country.

Fear. 

Against his cheek, Cari makes a soft sound. Ryan reaches for her automatically, his fingers slipping over her fur. She trembles beneath his hand and presses closer.

“I didn’t mean to – “ she murmurs, distress radiating from her small body. She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. Ryan already knows what she’s trying to say. _I didn’t mean to scare him_. 

Ryan didn’t know that was even possible, didn’t think that anything could rattle Shane, but the proof of it is plastered across the screen in high-definition and impossible to ignore. Ryan watches as Lucy slithers over to him, listens to Shane tell her that he’s fine, they’re both fine, sounding unconvinced but trying not to show it, and Ryan stops the footage, closes his laptop, doesn’t want to hear any more. He already feels like he’s trespassing on a private moment, seeing something he shouldn’t, and his stomach roils at the thought of continuing. He doesn’t want to watch himself wake up on screen, completely oblivious while Shane teases him as if nothing is wrong.

_Now I know why he was so quiet_ , Ryan thinks faintly. He remembers Shane’s face at the diner, how tense he had become when Lucy and Cari had curled together on the tabletop, and grimaces. Fuck.

He shouldn’t take it personally, he knows that. He would have reacted the same way if he were in Shane’s position, if he had woken up to the sight of another person’s daemon so close to him. Shane had been caught off guard, shocked, _scared_ , because it wasn’t – they had never been that close to each other’s daemons, that was all. Ryan would have fled, too. 

His chest and stomach don’t seem to care about his rationalizations, though. They’re both twisted up in knots, his mind racing between what he’s just seen and how Shane had acted all day, going back over their interactions in his head and feeling like an ass for not realizing that something was wrong. 

He suddenly dreads Monday, dreads seeing Shane and Lucy. Shane knows Ryan’s habits, knows that he’ll watch the footage, and the urge to text him, to say that he’s sorry, that Cari hadn’t meant anything by it, is so strong Ryan nearly reaches for his phone despite the late hour and no fucking idea how to even _begin_ that conversation. 

But he doesn’t. If he brings it up, he’ll have to explain why she’d done it – “ _They make us feel safe._ ” – and he just – he can’t. His heart jumps into his throat and lodges there at even the thought of trying. 

“I’m sorry,” Cari whispers, her distress a palpable thing between them, a bitter, roiling sensation deep in the pit of Ryan’s gut. 

“It’s alright,” he murmurs back, trying to convince her as much as himself. He can’t seem to get Shane’s wide-eyes out of his head, can’t seem to ignore how quickly he’d fled from Ryan’s side as soon as he was able. It doesn’t mean anything, he reminds himself, even as he slips back into bed and curls up on his side, Cari tucked into a ball against his chest. It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. He would have reacted the same way, after all.

Wouldn’t he? 

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

 

When he gets into the office on Monday, Shane is already there, sipping on a cup of coffee while he goes through his emails. Lucy is twined around his keyboard, soaking up the early morning rays seeping in through the windows, and Cari perks up on Ryan’s shoulder at the sight of her, her ears flicking against his cheek.

For a moment he’s glad; they’ve both been a little subdued all weekend, an air of despondency hanging over them as they attempted to ignore the elephant in the room. He hadn’t felt up to combing through anymore footage after watching Shane scramble away from Cari like his ass was on fire, and Cari, usually exuberant and a little hyperactive during their down time, had remained quiet for the rest of the weekend, her soft sighs playing counterpoint to Ryan’s frustrated groans whenever he found his mind wandering to what he’d seen. 

He takes his seat with his heart fluttering uncomfortably in his throat, taking longer than strictly necessary to take out his laptop and settle in. He goes to open his mouth and thinks better of it, taking a long, bracing gulp of his coffee instead until he’s confident his voice won’t do something completely fucking embarrassing like crack or come out all high-pitched and squeaky like it usually does when he’s worked up. 

“Morning,” he says, his voice only a little subdued. Cautious. 

Shane barely spares him a glance. “Mornin’,” he mumbles, before his eyes turn back to his screen. He reaches for his headphones, cramming them onto his head, and despite himself, Ryan feels a spark of anger settle somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. So that’s how they’re going to play it? Fine.

His jerks his eyes to his own computer, but not before catching Lucy’s slitted gaze. Unlike her human, it’s open and calm, but Ryan finds he can’t hold it for long. Unbidden, his mind traces back to the footage, to Lucy finding Cari by her side and doing nothing to stop her. He wonders if Shane knows about that, and doesn’t know how to feel it about it either way. 

And then he resolves to stop thinking about it completely, and gets to work.

Their desks are flush against each other, just as they’ve always been, yet they might as well be on opposite ends of the building for all the attention Shane affords him throughout the morning. It isn’t as though they’re glued at the hip or constantly talking, and they both tend to withdraw when they’re in the middle of a project, but there’s a difference between being distracted by work and actively ignoring each other. Right now, Ryan’s feeling that difference all too keenly.

Cari, too. For a while she perches on Ryan’s shoulder, watching him work, but he can feel her restless energy just as she can feel his, an endless feedback loop that leaves them both jittery and distracted. Eventually she breaks and hops down onto Ryan’s desk, her tiny paws barely making a sound as she maneuvers around the various office supplies and research folders scattered across his workspace. Ryan leaves her be, determined to focus on the notes splayed across his screen, travel plans and contact information for the owners of a supposedly haunted amusement park in Virginia that he’s been dying to check out. His eyes barely pick up on any of it, and that only serves to frustrate him more.

Which is why he snaps when he spots Cari toeing the line between his desk and Shane’s. Normally he wouldn’t care; he’s used to Cari and Lucy chasing each other or napping across both of their desks, but now… Now all Ryan can think about is how stiff and uncomfortable Shane had been at the diner, how quickly he had scrambled away from them back at the house, and how he’s spent the entire morning doing his best to ignore Ryan’s entire existence.

“Cari.” Her name comes out harsher than he intended, and Ryan feels like a dick as she flinches, her ears lying flat against her head. She tosses an uncertain glance at Lucy before darting across Ryan’s desk and scrambling back up onto his shoulder, tucking her nose against his neck. Tension rockets through her small body, her tiny shoulders drawing up around her ears, and Ryan reaches up to curl his fingers in her fur, hating the entire situation.

He can feel Shane looking at him – Lucy too, no doubt, but forces his eyes to focus on nothing but his computer and the notes emblazoned across the screen. After a few moments, the itch of eyes on his face fades away, and he returns to his work with a mental sigh of relief.

It’s going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised they would stop being dumb soon and here we are! Progress!

It’s late and he’s exhausted from traveling all day, but rather than try and catch some sleep Shane’s scrolling through his Twitter feed instead, liking tweets at random while he listens to the hum of the shower running in the background. Lucy slithers over his ankles at the foot of the bed, her scales rasping softly against the bedsheets and slipping cool as silk over his skin. She’s restless, driven to following the same path across the bed in an endless loop, and every once in a while Shane can feel her eyes on him.

He’s about to say something, maybe coax her up onto his shoulders so they can both chill the fuck out, but the bathroom door opens before he gets the chance. His eyes flick from his phone screen to Ryan, hair damp and face freshly shaven, clad in the usual sweatpants and t-shirt he wears to sleep. The soft pads of Cari’s footsteps follow after him before she hops onto the bed, and Shane’s lips twitch at the sight of her damp fur sticking up in every direction. She catches his eye and puffs up a bit, as though expecting him to tease her like he usually does, before she seems to remember that he hasn’t spoken to her in over a week and she turns her back, ignoring him.

Christ, what a fucking mess.

Shane’s been dreading this. It’s the first night they’ve spent in such close quarters since the poltergeist house and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking of it ever since. Time to process what happened and how he reacted to it hasn’t done much but leave him to stew in a mix of confusion and annoyance – confusion over why it had happened in the first place and annoyance at himself for reacting so viscerally to it. Even now he feels his ears heat as he remembers scrambling away from Cari and Ryan like his ass was on fire. He’d probably looked ridiculous on camera. He’d probably looked _scared_.

And maybe he had been, but fuck, he was allowed, wasn’t he? Anybody else would have been. Hell, _Ryan_ would have been, and Shane wouldn’t have said a word about it, wouldn’t have teased him or mocked him for it at all.

Not that Ryan has done any of those things. They haven’t really… talked about it. Or about anything else. Nothing of importance, anyway. Shane could probably count on one hand the amount of conversations they’ve had in the past week and the only one of substance had happened earlier that night, when they’d arrived at the hotel after their late flight into West Virginia.

“I can room with T.J.,” Ryan had told him, apropos of nothing. They’d been the last to grab their stuff from the rental car, T.J. and the others heading into the hotel ahead of them, and for a second Shane had thought he’d imagined Ryan saying anything at all, until he’d added, quietly and avoiding eye contact. “If you want. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Shane could tell that much from the look on Ryan’s face, much as Ryan had been trying to hide behind a mask of careful neutrality. Cari’s face had been even easier to read, her large, dark eyes settled somewhere in the vicinity of Shane’s chest and her ears drooping around her vulpine face.

Lucy had tightened around his neck, a quick, subtle warning to _say something, Shane_ , and he’d hurried to comply. “Nah, it’s cool,” he’d said, nearly tripping over his words in an attempt to inject them with as much forced cheerfulness as he could muster. “Can’t separate the Ghoul Boys, right?”

He’d been aiming for a smile, a lip twitch, _something_ , anything other than the wry grimace that had twisted Ryan’s lips in response. “Right,” Ryan had said, carefully moving past him to follow after the others and leaving Shane standing there, feeling like he’d said the wrong thing.

Shane had felt like shit then and he feels like shit now, pretending to be invested in his phone when he’s really watching Ryan slip into his own bed without a word, curled up on his side with Cari tucked against his chest and out of Shane’s sight. They’ve been walking on eggshells around each other for a week and everyone in the office has picked up on the tension between them. He can’t even count the number of times he’s caught both Jen and her stoat daemon eyeing them over her monitor, concern etched across both of their faces, and he’s noticed more than one intern giving their desks a wide berth like whatever’s going on with them is contagious. It’s ridiculous and it’s unnecessary and their shoot tomorrow is going to be a fucking disaster if Shane doesn’t get his shit together and _say something_. He’s kept his mouth shut for a week and it’s done nothing but drive a wedge between them that shouldn’t be there, and Shane’s fucking sick of it.

He glances at the end of the bed and catches Lucy’s gaze. She dips her head in a silent nod of support, and before he can second-guess himself he’s calling Ryan’s name, his pulse fluttering in his throat. “Hey, Ryan?”

Ryan doesn’t respond, but it’s clear by the hitch of his breathing that he’s at least paying attention.

“I think… I think we need to talk,” Shane begins, reaching for Lucy as she nears his torso. She twines around his arm, her tail squeezing gently around his wrist, and he’s more grateful for her presence than ever. He’s never been great at this – confrontation, emotional vulnerability – but she’s always managed to ease him through it, to help him unclutter the thoughts in his head and get him talking.

“You breaking up with me, big guy?” Ryan asks. It's said nonchalantly, but it's a joke that falls flat and they both know it. 

"Ryan, c'mon."

A deep sigh echoes from Ryan’s side of the room. Wordlessly he raises himself up from the bed, sheets pooling in his lap. Cari nudges against his knee, yipping softly, and Ryan pushes his fingers through her fur, chewing listlessly on his bottom lip.

He looks miserable and nervous and _embarrassed_ , and Shane hates it.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

Shane’s mouth falls open, confusion drawing his words up short. He hadn’t expected Ryan to be the first to break the silence. “What - ? What are _you_ apologizing for?” _He’s_ the one that should be pleading for forgiveness here, and he knows it. He’s the one that’s been acting like a dick for the past week.

“For – for what happened at the house,” Ryan answers, voice small and tight. “For Cari – She didn’t mean to - _We_ didn’t mean to – “ He breaks off with a frustrated growl, running his free hand through his hair. It sticks up in the back exactly like Cari’s fur when she’s afraid, and a rush of exasperated fondness battles with the dread churning in Shane’s stomach as he realizes what’s happening.

He should have seen it coming, honestly, and he feels like an idiot for not noticing it sooner. He knew Ryan would see the footage, after all, and with Shane avoiding the subject matter entirely, coupled with his standoffish attitude throughout the week, Ryan has done the obvious thing and jumped to his own conclusions. To the _wrong_ conclusions.

“Ryan,” Shane starts carefully, “I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did she.”

Ryan doesn’t look at him, the line of his shoulders taut and unhappy. “Then why does it seem like you want to run from the room every time we’re in it?”

“That’s not – “ Shane begins, throat working around a string of excuses before he just gives up. If there’s ever a time to be painfully honest it’s now, and Lucy seems to agree, if her soft hiss of his name is anything to go by. “I’m sorry about this week. I’ve been a dick to you for no good reason but it’s not your fault, okay?”

Ryan huffs a humorless laugh. “I saw the footage, Shane. I know what I did.”

Cari coos softly at his words, her large, dark eyes peering at Shane from the safety of Ryan’s hip. “I scared you,” she presses, and she looks so _small_ , hunched in on herself like she’s trying to hide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to – “

And okay, Shane’s not made of stone here. It’s no secret that he and Lucy love to poke fun at Ryan and Cari when they’re losing their shit on location, but to see them both genuinely upset has never sat right with either of them, and Shane’s up and out of his bed before Cari can say another word.

“Hey, you don’t have to do that,” he says, perching gingerly on the side of Ryan’s bed. “I don’t want you to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize _for_. It just – it caught me off guard, seeing you so close. I wasn’t prepared for it and I – I may have reacted like I was – well… “

“Scared,” Lucy finishes, ignoring the look Shane shoots her.

“Something along those lines, yes, thanks for that, Luce,” he mutters, the weight on his chest easing as Ryan’s lips twitch, just a little. “It wasn’t you that scared me,” he continues, catching Ryan’s gaze and holding it, because he needs Ryan to understand. “It was the situation, not you, and not Cari. Shit, if I had known it was coming I would have – I would have been okay with it.” It’s a confession he’s not entirely ready to make but one that needs to be said, and Shane feels a little lighter for letting it slip.

“Are you – you’re serious?” Ryan asks, a thread of something unidentifiable in his voice. Beside him, Cari’s ears have perked up, looking livelier than Shane’s seen her in days.

“Well, yeah,” Shane says, like it’s no big deal. “I’m always down to cuddle with a bro, you know that.”

Ryan snorts, his lips curling helplessly into a smile. It’s small, but it’s there. “I can’t take you seriously when you talk like that.”

“When I talk like you, you mean?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and grinning as Ryan makes a swipe at him. “Hey! Watch the merchandise, Bergara. I’ve gotta be camera ready for tomorrow so I’ll thank you to keep those grubby mitts to yourself.”

“Grubby - !” Ryan wheezes, and the remaining tension in the air eases away at the familiar sound. “What happened to _always down to cuddle with a bro_? Getting a lot of mixed signals here, dude.”

Shane nods solemnly, pressing a hand to his chest. “What can I say, Ryan, I’m an enigma.”

“You’re a goddamn menace,” Ryan corrects, and it’s so normal, so familiar, the two of them giving each other shit and grinning like idiots. The past week seems to melt away like a bad memory in the face of Ryan’s wide smile.

“You love it, don’t lie,” Shane coaxes, pointing a finger first at Ryan and then at Cari. “You _both_ do.”

Cari snaps her teeth in a playful bite, her grin very white and very sharp. “Only sometimes,” she concedes, and Shane fights back a laugh. In that moment she and Ryan look so much alike it’s scary.

“You’re all bark and no bite, foxface,” Lucy croons, trading Shane’s arm for the comfort of Ryan’s bed, her scales luminous against the dark blue sheets. The flick of her tongue somehow manages to convey a keen sense of smug satisfaction at her little quip, and Shane shakes his head fondly. She’s such a little shit.

Cari’s fur bristles, puffing up as though she’s trying to appear larger than she actually is. “I’ll show you no bite,” she growls, and launches herself across the bed with a battle cry.

Shane spends the rest of the night perched on the edge of Ryan’s bed, watching their daemons roll across the mattress in a tangle of fur and scales, ironing out their plans for the day ahead and talking about the amusement park they’re set to explore. It’s normal, _easy_ , like dozens of other nights before in dozens of other hotel rooms strewn across the country, and by the time he’s slipping into his own bed with Lucy settled around his neck the dread that Shane had been feeling all day has disappeared like so much dust in the wind.

Shane’s glad to see it go.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four is finally here! Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, or left kudos on the previous chapters! I'm endlessly thrilled by your enjoyment of this fic, and am so excited to share more with you! 
> 
> For those of you who love them, I made a full moodboard for this fic! You can see it [here](https://theawfuledges.tumblr.com/post/173435492814/we-bring-our-souls-in-close-18-shyan-daemon).
> 
> And, for anyone who wants some more [Lucy inspiration](https://theawfuledges.tumblr.com/post/181164180717/ever-wish-you-were-a-snake-just-to-be-tenderly)... ;)

Lake Shawnee Amusement Park isn’t much to look at, but it’s spooky enough to send a shiver down the length of Ryan’s spine the moment he sets foot there, and as he and Shane wait for T.J. and the others to set up their shot for the intro, he feels a familiar mix of dread and excitement bubbling in his gut.

“So, what’s the verdict, girls?” Shane chirps from beside him, hands poised on his hips as he surveys the park.

“It gives me the creeps,” Cari mumbles, dark eyes sweeping over the grounds with barely restrained suspicion. Ryan can feel her fur bristling against his cheek and he shudders, eyeing the dilapidated ferris wheel and the rusty swings. The cars groan in the slight breeze, the chains on the swings creaking ominously, and he already knows he’s not going to get a wink of sleep if he has to listen to that noise all night.

“It’s just an old park,” Lucy argues, peering into the wild grass from her perch around Shane’s neck. “Nothing to be concerned about, other than getting lost in this stuff." She flicks her tongue against Shane's cheek, offering a demure, "I'll be spending the shoot up here, thanks," and making Shane laugh.

Ryan's lips tilt into a smile at the sound. It's been too long since he's heard Shane laugh, and though it would usually exasperate him considering they're currently in the middle of ghoul territory, he finds it hard to dredge up even a little bit of annoyance. Mostly he's just very... content.

He had been dreading this shoot more and more as the week passed, every day that Shane and Lucy kept their careful distance drawing both he and Cari further into an anxious spiral, one that had nothing to do with their impending investigation. He had hated it, sitting next to Shane but not speaking, not knowing how to fix things and afraid to be the first to bring up what had happened at the poltergeist house.

He hadn't expected Shane to apologize. He hadn't expected Shane to confess that it was the situation, not _Ryan_ , that had scared him.

_"Shit, if I had known it was coming I would have - I would have been okay with it."_ He hadn't expected _that_ either.

They hadn't talked about it any further, hadn't discussed what that confession actually _meant_. Was Shane saying he'd be okay with Cari curling up against him again, so long as she asked first? Did the same extend to Lucy, if she decided she wanted to be that close to Ryan?

Not that she - or Shane - would want that. Would they?

"You still with us, Ryan?" Shane asks, nudging Ryan’s shoulder with his own. Ryan glances up and realizes that he must have been lost in thought for a few minutes - T.J. and Mark and Devon are waiting with cameras at the ready for them to shoot the intro.

"I'm here, I'm good," Ryan hurries to assure, annoyed at himself for falling down that particular rabbit hole here of all places. _Game face on, Bergara_ , he thinks, squaring his shoulders as he follows Shane over to the crew and the two folding chairs waiting for them. _Ghosts now, crisis later_.

It’s not great as far as encouragement goes, but it does the job. He takes a breath, folds his fingers over Cari’s shoulders for comfort, and gets to it.

"This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved... "

 

Knowing that spirits are about always sets Ryan on edge, but it’s worse when they're kids. There's something simultaneously sad and really fucking unsettling about the possibility of seeing a child apparition or hearing a child's giggle on the spirit box. It doesn't help that his experience with little Sallie sits in the back of his mind while he's attempting to coax any nearby spirits to move one of the swings or say their names. He can’t help but remember that demons tend to adopt the guise of a child, and shudders.

"Feeling a chill, bud?" Shane asks him, as nonplussed as always. He seems totally unconcerned with both the weather (foggy, eerie, fucking _cold_ ) and the general atmosphere of the place (horrifying), which is somehow both annoying and impressive at the same time.

“How are you not creeped out right now?” Ryan asks, shivering as the breeze picks up and the cars on the ferris wheel begin to sway. Cari burrows into his hood and her warmth against the back of his neck helps to drive the chill away, though not by much. Christ, this place is a fucking nightmare.

Shane shrugs. “What’s there to be scared of? Just a couple of old rusty carnival rides and a shabby ticket booth. I’m assuming we’re doing our solo sessions there?”

Ryan feels his brow start to sweat. “Yep,” he says faintly.

Shane must notice the thread of trepidation in his voice, because an arm settles over his shoulders, Shane’s body warmth leeching the cold straight from his bones. “C’mon then,” Shane says, tugging him along, and though he’s hamming it up for the camera with a wide grin, his concern is evident enough in the gentle squeeze of his palm around Ryan’s shoulder. “Let’s get to it!”

A familiar sort of calm settles over Ryan at Shane’s goofy grin; it’s a reminder that he’s not alone, a reminder that does more to ease the tension from his frame than the trod of their camera crew’s boots behind them, because it’s _Shane_ , and it’s Lucy, twined around his neck and flicking her tongue at Cari until Ryan feels her relax against his nape.

_They make us feel safe_ , Cari had told him, and it’s true, always has been. It’s the reason Ryan had even agreed to stay overnight when they had been given the chance, and it’s the reason he feels himself settling now, though there’s still that undercurrent of fear thrumming through him, the same undercurrent Ryan is used to at every location. Nothing to be done about it but to grit his teeth and push through it.

“The pond first,” he says, swallowing down a trickle of unease. “And then the ticket booth.”

“And then camping!” Shane says, his eyes practically twinkling. “Just us and the great outdoors, Ryan. Well, us and you guys.” He points at T.J.’s camera. “Did you hear that, folks? It’s a Ghouligan slumber party and you’re all invited!”

Ryan shakes his head, a smile pulling at his lips. “We gonna braid each other’s hair and talk about boys?” he asks, grin stretching as Cari lets out a yip of laughter on his shoulder.

“You know it, buddy!”

Ryan snorts, though his humor wanes as they draw to a stop at the patch of ground that used to house the park’s swimming hole. The owner had shown it to them earlier, and Ryan had made a point to avoid the area for as long as possible.

He relates the tragic history of this particular attraction – the death that had occurred there and the subsequent efforts of the owner to erase the stain of the accident from the grounds by filling in the pool.

Shane blows out a breath as he finishes. "Not great, Ryan," he says, and Ryan hums in complete agreement, more than ready to ask their questions and get the fuck out of there. He doesn't know why this place has him so rattled – the added tragedy of something terrible happening in a place meant for fun and happy memories, he supposes, plus the obvious creep factor of abandoned carnival rides left to rot in a field.

By the time they're done and making their way toward the ticket booth, he's almost looking forward to their solo sessions – not because he has any interest in being alone but because at least afterwards the investigation will be over. Well, barring their little sleepover, but Ryan’s trying not to think about that for a whole host of reasons, not all of them ghoul-related.

“Buckle up, buttercups, we’re comin’ through!” Shane announces with all of his usual aplomb, not even batting an eye before shutting himself up in the tiny ticket booth, his boots thudding against the floorboards before Ryan hears the creak of the chair they’d set up inside.

Cari climbs down from his shoulder as they wait, her ears pricked, barely making a sound as she darts over the grass between Ryan’s boots. Unease gnaws at his stomach, the usual roil of nerves and fear tapdancing away at his insides even as he rolls his eyes at the camera – Shane’s voice may be muffled from inside the ticket booth but the antagonistic lilt of his voice is all too clear.

Much as he complains about it, Shane’s familiar lack of fucks, especially in the midst of such an unsettling location, does help to calm Ryan’s nerves, to the point where Cari eventually stops wearing a path in the grass and settles primly at his feet, though her tail still flicks wildly behind her.

T.J. takes one look at her and smiles, a quick upturn of his mouth that the bulk of his camera fails to hide.

“What?” Ryan asks, catching it.

T.J. shrugs. “Nothing, man. Just glad to see you’re doing better.” Bree, his serval daemon, rumbles a laugh beside him, warm and amused, and Ryan bristles as he feels his face flush with heat. He deliberately doesn’t look at Mark or Devon, just in case they’re wearing the same knowing expression that T.J. is.

He’s saved from replying by Shane throwing open the door to the ticket booth, Lucy twined around his neck and hands laden down with his handheld and flashlight. “Well, that was illuminating,” he says, widening his eyes at T.J.’s camera. “Some real, real compelling stuff in there, folks.”

Ryan sighs, moving to take Shane’s place and mumbling a soft, “Shut up, Shane,” for good measure. He keeps his head angled away from any camera lens so no one can catch the beginnings of a smile on his face, and steels himself for his own session in the booth, Cari right on his heels.

He’s fine walking in. It’s not a huge space, but then, it hadn’t needed to be, considering its purpose. The beam of his flashlight drifts along the walls, dark and rotted in some places from neglect, and over the window, boarded over with remnants of cracked glass clinging to the corners of the frame. The whole place smells of damp wood and rot.

It’s also fucking freezing, even without the wind pushing at his body and slipping through all the gaps in his clothes, and Ryan shivers as he settles in the chair, his fingertips tapping nervously at his handheld. Cari jumps into his lap and skitters up his chest until she can perch on his shoulder, her eyes gleaming yellow-green in the darkness, and Ryan can hear her breath, soft and quick near the shell of his ear.

“Well, this fucking sucks.” He tries to laugh, hating the noticeable wobble in his voice, but it comes out strangled. Against his neck, Cari trembles.

“Don’t like it in here,” she whispers, as if she doesn’t want her voice to carry. As if they’re not alone. Ryan can feel her hackles rising, the fur along her shoulders bristling against the back of his neck.

“You and me both,” he murmurs, his palm clammy where it’s gripping his flashlight. They’d agreed to do this session in the dark, but it takes real effort to force himself to flick the switch. He does it anyway.

Cari lets out a low whine by his ear as they’re plunged into darkness, her nails digging into his shoulder. He can’t see a goddamn thing, not the walls or the ceiling or even his hands when he holds one up to his face. He’s been in worse places, but still, his perception is skewed by such utter darkness and his voice, when he can finally force himself to speak, shakes.

He asks innocuous questions, their typical fare: _Is there anyone here? Can you say my name? Is there anything you’d like to say to us?_ He’ll go over the footage with a fine toothed comb later, see if his mic caught anything his ears couldn’t, but for now he’s not really thinking of the evidence. He’s thinking of getting _out_.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the door creaks open, tension zipping through his frame before he sees Shane’s face peering through the crack, but the timer on his phone hasn’t gone off yet – he’s learned to rely on it rather than Shane, who likes to leave him stewing in these places for longer than necessary.

“Hasn’t been five minutes yet, dude,” he says, trying to smother the nervous waver in his voice with false bravado. “What’s up?”

“There room for one more in there?” Shane asks. By his feet, Lucy pokes her head in, scales nearly glowing in the dark.

The invitation is clear, though unexpected, and Ryan flounders. He should say no, he's fine, he doesn't need it, but when he opens his mouth the only thing that comes out is, "Are you sure?"

It's Lucy that answers, her soft, raspy voice drifting smoothly through the gloom. "Very." She slithers through the gap, the faint shuffle of her belly over the floorboards barely audible over the sudden racing of Ryan's heart - not from fear this time, but anticipation. Gratitude.

"You sure this is okay?" he asks, his voice softening. Shane will be right outside the door so it's not like the distance will be a problem, but still, even a little distance can feel like too much if you're not careful, and Shane's never offered this before.

Shane shoots him a smile, a small curl of his lips. "I'm sure, bud. Three more minutes." He ducks outside, nudging the door closed, and just like that, Ryan's shrouded in darkness again.

His eyes flutter uselessly around the room. It’s impossible to distinguish one corner from the other, and despite knowing that the booth is tiny, the lack of light distorts his perception of the space, makes it feel bigger. Massive. He repeats his questions, asking whoever or whatever may be lingering there to reach out, make contact. The booth remains stubbornly silent.

“I think they’re afraid,” Lucy says. Ryan swallows and searches her out, though of course he still can’t see a goddamn thing.

“Afraid?”

“Of snakes.” Ryan can’t see it, but he can imagine the gleam of mischief in Lucy’s eyes all the same – the same gleam he catches in Shane’s whenever they reach the end of a Postmortem and he busts out his script for the Hotdaga.

He laughs, more a snort than anything else. “You _are_ pretty terrifying,” he agrees, though Lucy is anything but. She only bares her fangs when he takes out the Spirit Box or Shane eats something spicy; otherwise she’s a sleepy-eyed noodle draped around Shane’s neck or curled around his forearm.

“And don’t you forget it,” she replies primly, followed by a light tug against his boot. Ryan doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. “No ghost,” Lucy pipes up, before he can say a word. “Just me. Do you mind?”

“I – No, go ahead.” He doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, not at first, not until he feels weight settle around his boot and slip up along his shin. She’s not touching his skin, the barrier of his boot and skinny jeans keeping her scales from his flesh, but it’s still – it’s a lot. To feel her. Even through his clothes she’s firm, a little heavy. _Close_. “Is this – is this really – ?”

“It’s fine, Ryan,” she says, so matter-of-factly that he almost laughs. It’s like this is no big deal to her, like it’s just something they do.

“But Shane – “

“He knows,” Lucy murmurs, and of course he does. “It’s alright, Ryan, if you’re alright. _Are_ you alright?”

Is he? His heart’s beating furiously in his chest, rabbit-fast as Lucy wraps around his shin, but it’s not from fear. Well, not only from fear.

“I’m alright,” he says, a little breathless as he shuffles his feet, feeling Lucy’s coils tighten minutely around his leg. God, that’s – that’s something. “I’m alright.”

Against his neck, Cari rumbles, her small body nearly vibrating against the back of his neck. If Ryan didn’t know any better, he’d say she was purring.

 

Wind whistles through the thin material of their tent, and though he can’t actually feel it, Ryan still finds himself shivering. He can hear Shane breathing, soft and even as he scrolls through his phone.

“You doing okay, Ry?” he asks, and Ryan glances up to see Shane peering at him over the foot of space between them. Maybe less than a foot, actually. He’s beginning to think their two-man tent hadn’t been designed with someone as lengthy as Shane in mind.

“I’m good,” Ryan replies, and he is. “Cold,” he adds, because he’s also freezing, despite being wrapped in the warmest hoodie and sweatpants he owns, Cari a ball of warmth at his side. Lucy mirrors her against Shane’s side, her head nestled against Cari’s – they’d settled there before he and Shane had even changed into their pajamas, and it feels significant, like they’re making a statement their humans are too dumb to understand.

Well, Ryan concedes, a faint flush warming his cheeks as he watches Cari wrap her tail around Lucy’s. Maybe not so dumb.

Shane’s lips quirk into a smirk, his phone abandoned to the side. “Is this your way of asking for another hug, Ryan? ‘Cause you could just come out and say it, you know. I won’t judge.”

Ryan breathes out a laugh. “Fuck off, Shane.”

Shane tsks, turning onto his side. “ _Fuck off, Shane_ , he says. You weren’t telling me to fuck off when I was protecting you from that poltergeist a week ago.”

It’s the opening Ryan needs, he knows, to bring up what had happened in the ticket booth. What had started back in that house, with Cari curled up against Shane’s chest like she belonged there.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, apropos of nothing. “Last night, about – about being okay with Cari touching you?”

Shane braces his cheek on his palm, getting comfortable. He looks serious, the usual traces of good humor smoothed from his face. “I did. Still do.”

Ryan nods, like he figured as much, when in all actuality he still found it hard to believe. Maybe it’s the memory of Shane scrambling away from him, still sitting like a bitter little reminder in the back of his mind, that makes belief so difficult, even though he knows he would have been just as freaked out if he were in Shane’s position.

How would Shane react now, he wonders, if he knew it was coming, if he was expecting it? If he wanted it to happen?

"Lucy touched me," he says, soft, like it’s a secret he’s confessing. Like Shane doesn't already know. “In the ticket booth. She said – she said you knew.”

"Were you okay with it?" Shane asks, like he doesn't already know that, too. His eyes are half-closed, sleepy and soft, and his lips curl as Ryan nods. "Are you still okay with it?"

"I wanted her to," Ryan admits in lieu of a reply, and then, because that's only a half-truth, "Before we came here, before she ever offered, I wanted her to. I felt better, when she did. I felt better just having her there. Having you there." Cari yips softly against him and Ryan laughs, nothing more than a shaky breath in the dark before he adds, "That always helps."

"We're your emotional support skeptics," Shane says, making Ryan laugh again, his nerves stripped away for a moment in the wake of his mirth. "We specialize in winding you up _and_ calming you down. Versatility, baby. It's the spice of life."

Ryan shakes his head, still chuckling, ignoring the way his chest warms at that ridiculous petname. "That's not the only reason, though," he continues, because it's important that he make that distinction. "Bree and the others keep us from losing our shit, too, but not like you. You and Lucy, you're... " Fuck, why is this so fucking hard?

"Ryan," Shane interrupts, and oh, Ryan can already hear the lilt in his voice, that familiar teasing edge dancing along his words. "Are you trying to say we're _special_ to you?"

Ryan huffs, half a laugh and half a groan. “Not in so many words – “

“Bullshit!” Shane crows, his smile practically feline. “This is like that time you were drunk during Test Friends and told everyone I was your best friend – “

“To be fair, we were _all_ drunk during Test Friends – “

“Yeah, but no one else was bragging about having Shane Madej for a best bud,” Shane counters. Lucy lets out a hissing laugh against his chest and Ryan goes red so fast he almost feels dizzy.

“You said you’d never bring that up again,” he says, betrayed. “We had a gentlemen’s agreement – “

“We had no such thing,” Shane laughs. His eyes are nearly sparkling in the darkness, something Ryan should probably be creeped out by and yet can’t help but find endearing instead, and if that doesn’t perfectly sum up their friendship, he doesn’t know what does. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Ryan.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Ryan grumbles. “And I wasn’t _bragging_.”

“There’s some extra footage from that night that would disagree with you there, bud,” Shane chirps. “It was sweet, Ryan. Deal with it.”

“Whatever,” Ryan scoffs, ignoring the way the heat in his face has traveled to his throat and down over his chest.

“Don’t be like that,” Shane cajoles, his voice breaking on a snicker. “Hey, I’d brag about being your best bud too, no liquid courage required. I’ll do it right now if that’ll make you feel better.” He makes a move to reach for his phone, but Ryan grabs it and stuffs it beneath his own pillow.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warns, holding his stern expression even as the tent fills with the soft sound of Shane’s laughter, his hands held out in a gesture of surrender before he settles back down into his sleeping bag.

Ryan knows he could leave it at that, let this conversation fade like so many others into banter and laughter and jokes. He could leave it for another day, wait until they’re home rather than in the middle of a haunted amusement park, but for once, something about the darkness gives him courage rather than fear, and he finds himself asking the question that has been plaguing him since he first saw that footage over a week ago.

“That night in the poltergeist house, and tonight, in the ticket booth. Is that something best buds do? Let each other’s daemons get that close?”

Shane’s shoulder rises in a gentle shrug. He doesn’t look surprised by the turn of their conversation. “Eh, probably not, but then, we can’t ever do anything halfway, can we?”

Despite the nervous energy prickling at his limbs, Ryan can’t help but huff a laugh. “No. No, we can’t.” He chews on his lower lip, his fingers sinking unconsciously into the fur at Cari’s ruff. “What _are_ we doing? I mean, are we – is this – “ He gestures uselessly between the two of them, between their daemons, curled up close. “What the fuck are we doing, Shane?”

It's rich of him to be the one that asks, he knows, considering he had been the one to sort of… set the ball in motion, or whatever. But Shane was in this too – whatever _this_ was. He’d proven it in their hotel room the night before, and earlier, with Lucy twining around Ryan like she belonged there. Like it was something they’d done before.

Shane studies him for a long moment, contemplative. Ryan should be used to it – they sort of look at each other a lot, it’s just a thing that happens when you spend so much time together – but he finds himself feeling strangely shy beneath the weight of that stare. It should probably annoy him or piss him off or something, but it doesn’t. He just feels… anticipatory. Like something is coming, something big.

“What do you think we’re doing?” Shane asks, and he does it so goddamn casually, like he’s asking about the weather, or what Ryan wants for lunch, rather than what it means that they’ve been crossing so many boundaries between each other lately that soon enough there’s going to be none left and they’re just going to collide.

“I’m asking _you_ ,” Ryan counters. “I mean, shit, Shane. The people that do that, that touch each other like that, they’re usually, y’know… together.”

Shane’s expression doesn’t change. “Not always,” he says. “And it doesn’t have to be that way, with us. Doesn’t have to mean that’s something we want. Unless it is.” He pauses, shifts a little in his sleeping bag. Ryan wonders if he’s nervous, wishes he could tell, but Shane’s expression hasn’t changed. “ _Is_ that something you want?”

Ryan rolls onto his back, scrubbing his hands over his face. It’s easier that way, easier to answer when he’s not looking at Shane, when he can’t see Shane looking at him. “How can you just fucking – ask that, man?”

“C’mon, Bergara,” Shane coaxes, patient as ever. “It’s not that hard. Just give it to me straight.”

“This is the least straight conversation we’ve ever had, big guy – “

“ _Ryan_.”

Ryan folds. Fuck him, he _folds_. “Fuck, _yes_ , okay? Yes, I. I think so.”

There’s silence for a moment, enough time for Ryan to feel self-conscious in a way he really fucking hates. Eventually, though, he feels a hint of pressure against his shoulder – Shane’s finger, he figures out, gently poking him until Ryan gives up and drops his hands.

“Okay,” Shane says.

Ryan stares. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Ryan stares some more. “Uhhh – “ he starts, only for Shane to roll his eyes and lean over to flick him on the forehead.

“Mind out of the gutter, Bergara. I’m saying – let’s try this out. Try _us_ out. Go on a date, or something.”

Ryan swallows, his throat suddenly very dry. “A date, huh?”

“Yep. You and me, ghoulfriend. What do you say?”

“Say yes,” Cari chimes, and Ryan glances down to see her dark eyes peering up at him, her teeth glinting in a wide grin.

“Yes, Ryan, say yes,” Lucy rasps, tilting her head between the two of them. “Shane really wants you to.”

Shane covers her head with his hand, his hasty, “Hey, hey, hey, enough of that,” barely muffling her hissing laughter. It’s hard to tell in the dim confines of their tent, but Shane’s face looks a little flushed along the bridge of his nose, almost like he’s blushing. It’s… pretty fucking endearing, actually, and Ryan holds back a laugh, his nerves easing – not entirely, because Jesus Christ, what the fuck are they doing, but just enough for him to settle back into his sleeping bag and say, with all the confidence he can muster –

“Okay, big guy. Let’s go on a date.”

For a second Shane looks surprised, like he never actually expected Ryan to say yes, but then he’s grinning and raising his hand in the universal signal for a high five. “Alright, Bergara! Look at you, takin’ chances. I like it.”

Ryan snorts, taking a moment to lament the utter ridiculousness of the man he chooses to call his best friend – the man he just agreed to _date_ , god help him.

That doesn’t stop him from slapping his hand against Shane’s. They’re both a little ridiculous, but that’s why they work – as friends, as coworkers, as co-hosts.

Why wouldn’t they work as more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost wrote a kiss in this chapter but NOPE. SLOW BURN ALL THE WAY, BABEY.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are _happening_ in this chapter, folks!

Shane stands in front of the mirror in his bedroom, fingers working up the length of the shirt he'd slipped on after his shower, doing up the buttons. He hesitates over the top two, buttoning one and then shaking his head and unbuttoning it again, a hint of his collarbone showing through the gap. After a moment of indecision, he slips the third button free of its hole as well, settling his hands on his hips as he studies his reflection. He’d smoothed his hair back and trimmed his beard, foregoing his typical flannel and chinos for a pink shirt he’d been complimented on before and a pair of dark skinny jeans. Is it too much? Not enough?

"You're nervous." 

He scoffs, glancing at Lucy through the mirror. She’s curled up on his bed, radiating a mixture of boredom and amusement. Boredom because he’s maybe taken longer than strictly necessary to pick out an outfit, and amusement because… well, who the fuck knows. He’s not nervous.

“I’m not nervous,” he reiterates, casting a dubious eye over his clothes and wondering whether or not he should tuck his shirt in. “It’s just Ryan. It’s just movie night. We’ve done this a thousand times before.”

“Funny,” Lucy chimes. “Do you usually spend half an hour in front of the mirror before a night in with your _buddy_?” Her tongue flickers from her mouth, a raspy laugh following moments later. “Or wear cologne?”

Shane gives her a look. The answer to both of her questions is the same and they both know it. “This is all your fault; you realize that, right?”

Lucy dips her head in acknowledgement. “It’s technically all _your_ fault. Don’t pretend you aren’t pleased.”

Shane opens his mouth to offer up some rebuttal or another, but then he takes stock of himself: the outfit, the _grooming_ , and the smile that he can’t seem to fight, curling his lips in a way that even he finds insufferable. He closes his mouth.

Lucy laughs. “That’s what I thought.”

Shane huffs but doesn’t bother replying, not wanting to give her any more ammunition to use against him.

It had been a few days since he and Ryan and the crew had gotten home. West Virginia had been interesting but ultimately empty on the ghost front, and incredibly enlightening on the Ryan front. And the Shane front, if he’s being honest. He had gone into that trip wanting to fix things between them, but somehow asking Ryan on a date had never factored in to his imaginings.

And yet here he was, making himself pretty for the guy. Or about as pretty as he could manage, anyway.

They'd agreed to keep tonight lowkey, just them, some popcorn and a few movies. Something familiar to keep the pressure off, ease into things. See how well they vibed with this whole dating thing.

Jesus. He and Ryan, on a _date_. Who would have thought?

“Alright, Luce,” he says, turning to face her and brushing down his shirt for the last time. “How do I look?”

“Hmm,” Lucy demures, tilting her head this way and that as she studies him. “Lose another button.” 

" _Lucy_ ," Shane gasps, even as he follows her advice, leaving a healthy swath of his collarbone exposed. "You're shameless."

Lucy hums, curling around his wrist as he scoops her from the bed. "You'll thank me when Ryan gets here,” she murmurs coyly, winding along his forearm and settling her head on top of his shoulder as he makes his way through the apartment. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Luce,” Shane cautions, even as something like anticipation coils in his stomach, warm and curious. “We’re taking things slow, remember?”

Lucy huffs. “How much slower could you possibly go? It’s taken you years just to get here!”

Shane laughs, stroking his fingers over her head. “Yeah, well. You can’t rush a good thing.”

“Apparently,” she grumbles, her voice nearly drowned out by the sudden knocking on his front door.

“Behave,” Shane tells her, smoothing a hand through his hair one last time.

Lucy scoffs, as if she would do anything less. 

Opening the door to find Ryan waiting on the other side is nothing new. Shane has seen so many permutations of the same thing over the course of their friendship that it’s as familiar now as morning coffee or salt and butter on his popcorn.

This, though. This is new.

Ryan’s standing there in the soft maroon sweater he only ever really breaks out for special occasions, the material clinging to his biceps in a way that Shane finds – and has always found, truth be told – utterly distracting. Dark jeans and artfully messy hair complete the look, and – is that – Yep, that’s cologne Shane smells, something subtle and a little woodsy that he doesn’t recognize but likes immediately.

Perched on his shoulder, her fur sleek and shiny, Cari sits like a little queen, dark eyes shining over a muzzle that looks ready to twitch into her signature toothy grin. Around her neck sits a little bowtie in the same shade as Ryan’s sweater, and Shane is so fucking endeared by the sight that he has to wrap a hand around the doorframe so he doesn’t do something embarrassing.

“Well, well, well,” he says, and is that his voice that sounds so breathless? “Don’t you two clean up nice?”

Ryan grins, looking pleased, even as he smooths a self-conscious hand down the front of his sweater. "It’s not too much?"

"Nah. You look – you look good.” Good is a bit of an understatement, Shane will admit, especially as Ryan smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle sweetly, but it’s the truth, and as he steps back from the threshold, waving Ryan in with a hearty, “Well, come on! Netflix is queued, corn’s ready to be popped, let’s get this show on the road!” Shane feels the first faint flutters of – okay, yes, he can say it – _nervousness_ in the pit of his belly. It’s not a bad sensation by any means, more anticipatory than fearful, especially as Ryan ducks into the apartment and Shane gets a noseful of that woodsy spice clinging to his skin. 

Against his shoulder, Lucy murmurs, “They dressed up for us,” her voice soft enough that only Shane can hear. She sounds downright _charmed_ , and he blushes, recognizing the tone from previous infatuations. Oh boy.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, waving toward the couch. “Pick us out something good while I grab the popcorn?”

“Ooh, dealer’s choice?” Ryan grabs the remote and plops down onto the couch in his usual spot, Cari hopping from his shoulder to dart along the back. Her tail twitches back and forth as Ryan scrolls through Shane’s Netflix list, and Shane hides a smile as he heads into the kitchen. He’s not the only one who’s nervous. 

He’s not surprised to find the opening credits of a horror film playing when he returns, carrying a serving bowl filled to the brim with buttery goodness. He _is_ surprised to find that Ryan has vacated his usual spot for one further towards the center of the couch, where they usually keep the popcorn during their Netflix binge nights, but chooses not to say a thing about it. He slips onto the cushion beside Ryan instead, cradling the bowl on his lap, and feels a little like an adolescent when the rasp of Ryan’s thigh against his own makes his heart trip. It’s such a little thing, and it’s not like they haven’t been this close before, smushed together in cars with the crew or at crowded tables when they’re out with friends, but the _intent_ behind that closeness is new.

New and all the more exciting for it, because it’s a stark reminder that all of this – whatever happens tonight, whatever’s beginning between them, whatever they’re changing into – is uncharted territory. It’s all wrapped up in familiarity right now, but it’s uncharted nonetheless, because for the first time in recent memory, Shane has no idea how a night with Ryan will end.

Not that he expects anything, one way or the other. He’s content to play things by ear, let the night take them wherever it pleases. No expectations, no pressure, just the Ghoul Boys, some silly horror flicks, and plenty of potential.

The first half hour of the film passes in relative silence, other than the rustle of their fingers dipping into the popcorn bowl and Shane’s soft snickering whenever Ryan jumps at a particularly effective scare.

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan hisses, retaliating by stealing the popcorn and refusing to let Shane anywhere near it until he relents and promises to keep his trap shut.

Lucy sticks close for a while, curled around Shane’s bicep with her head hooked over his shoulder. He’s a little surprised she hasn’t abandoned him for Cari yet; they’re usually a pile of scales and fur by now, or chasing each other along the back of the couch if he and Ryan have fallen into one of their usual, ah, debates. He wonders what she’s waiting for. Cari seems content to remain where she is, too, perched on the cushion beside Ryan with her head on his knee, his fingers stroking through her ruff.

“You do too, you know,” Ryan says, his voice soft. They’ve reached a moment of reprieve in the movie, the false sense of peace before all hell breaks loose, and it’s easy to hear him over the ambient sounds of the protagonists celebrating the demise of the monster.

Shane glances over, cheeks bulging with half-chewed popcorn. “Huh?” he garbles.

“You’re disgusting,” Ryan deadpans, though his lips twitch into a smile when all Shane does is shrug his shoulders like _eh, what are ya gonna do?_ “I meant – you look good, too.” His eyes flick down the length of Shane’s torso, over his open collar and along the sprawl of his long legs, stretched out with his socked feet resting on the coffee table, and oh.

_Oh_.

God, there’ll be no living with Lucy after this.

He can hear her soft raspy laughter in his ear already, followed by the flex of her body as she moves along the ball of his shoulder and over the nape of his neck, like this is the cue she’d been waiting for all along.

“What?” he asks, brushing a stray kernel crumb from his shirt. “This old thing?”

“I already said you looked good, stop fishing for compliments,” Ryan teases, and then shivers. Shane glances up and catches a flash of Lucy’s tail in the darkness, trailing along the back of Ryan’s shoulders as she makes her way toward Cari.

_Shameless_ , Shane thinks, his cheeks flushing. Out loud, he says, “I’m not fishing, I’m just… gently prodding.”

Ryan snorts, and then there’s the back of his hand, bumping gently against Shane’s chest. “I guess you really did go all out tonight, huh, big guy?” His knuckles slip through the gaps in Shane’s shirt, brushing against his skin, and now it’s Shane’s turn to shiver.

“Couldn’t let you show up and find me lookin’ like a bum,” he says, his heart tripping as Ryan’s knuckles pass along the hollow of his throat, back and forth, the touch feather light and almost ticklish.

Ryan’s lips tilt into a smile, though his eyes don't stray from the progression of his hand. “So this is the full Shane Madej date experience, is that it? Nice clothes, fancy cologne, plying me with popcorn and horror flicks...”

“That’s just the beginning, baby,” Shane promises. It’s easy to let the pet name slip, always has been around Ryan, first as a means to annoy him and now… Well. The connotation might be a little different now.

He can see the moment Ryan realizes it, too, the way his lips part and that familiar furrow forms between his brows, the “Shut up, Shane,” on the tip of his tongue before he stops, blinking up at Shane like he’s just been knocked for a loop.

_Same, buddy_ , Shane thinks, wanting to laugh but unable to. There’s a nervous energy prickling beneath the skin of his palms, trailing up his arms, urging him to reach out. Ryan’s close enough that he wouldn’t even have to move far, could just duck his head and –

“Too soon?” he jokes instead, because it’s so much easier to fall back into banter than to focus on how easy it would be to kiss Ryan. Not that he doesn’t want to, or hadn’t thought it would come up tonight. It’s just that everything so far has been… familiar, for the most part, and once they cross a threshold like that, once he can look at Ryan’s mouth and know how it feels against his own, the shape and texture and give of it, there’s no turning back.

Ryan snorts. “I mean, it’s not like I’m not used to it.” He bumps his knuckles twice against Shane’s collarbone before he drops his hand, leaning over to dump the empty popcorn bowl onto the coffee table. The movement draws Shane’s eye to the television screen, where the credits for their movie are rolling. Looks like they missed the big finale. “What should I call you, then?” Ryan continues, shifting so that he‘s facing Shane, one leg curled beneath him. “I don’t think idiot counts, unless you’re, like, into being degraded.” He squints at Shane, a contemplative frown on his face. “Actually, that would make a lot of sense – “

“We haven’t even kissed yet and you’re already judging me for my as-of-yet unconfirmed kinks?” Shane asks, because he has a one track mind and it’s hard to be quippy when he can still feel the ghost of Ryan’s touch on his chest.

He only realizes his mistake when Ryan’s eyes light up, like Shane’s just confirmed one of his crack-pot theories might actually have some merit. “’Yet’?” he repeats, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You expecting a kiss tonight, big guy?”

_You crafty fucker_ , Shane thinks, narrowing his eyes at his grinning ghoulfriend. Out loud he says, “Look, you. It’s already been established that this – “ He points his finger at Ryan and then twirls it in a circle between them, encompassing both their proximity and their snazzy duds. “ – is a date, and what usually happens at the end of these things, if not during?”

“Regret?”

Shane shoots him a look and tries not to smile as Ryan starts snickering. “ _Smoochin’_ , my friend. Smoochin’. Not always, mind you, and this is in no way my weak attempt to goad you into it. I’m just sayin’, it could happen.”

Ryan _hmms_. “I mean, you’re not wrong. Kind of presumptuous, but not wrong.”

“Me?” Shane mock-gasps, pressing a hand to his chest and completely ignoring the fact that Ryan hadn’t disputed the whole ‘we’re probably gonna kiss’ thing. “Presumptuous? _Never_.”

“Did I say presumptuous? I meant _a real pain in my ass_.”

Shane blinks, opens his mouth, closes it. Blinks again. “There are so many ways I could respond to that and all of them are filthy.”

Ryan cackles, pushing at his shoulder with a startled, “Fuck you, man! That’s not what I meant!”

“Well, how would I know? I don’t want to stumble across one of your as-of-yet unconfirmed kinks and inadvertently judge you for it.”

“Butt stuff isn’t a kink, you moron, it’s - it's a fucking preference!”

“Oh, Ryan,” Shane deadpans. “Call me dumb again, you know how it gets me going.”

Ryan gapes at him, a breathless noise escaping his mouth before he crumples, his head falling into his hands and a peal of laughter drifting from between his fingers. One second of that is enough to set Shane off, until they’re both slumped into the couch and wheezing like idiots. It’s so natural, so goddamn _easy_ , and the flutter in Shane’s stomach from seeing Ryan laugh, from acknowledging how attractive he is when he does it, makes the whole thing sweeter.

His laughter trails off sooner than Ryan’s, and he spends a moment just… looking, in a way that he never really has before. He takes in Ryan’s dark hair, longer than he usually lets it grow and falling over his brow, effortlessly messy in a way that Shane envies. He takes in the crinkle of Ryan’s eyes and the breadth of his smile as he laughs, bright and loud and totally unselfconscious in his mirth. He takes in the way Ryan’s sweater molds to his broad shoulders and clings to his arms and chest, emphasizing the girth of his biceps and the swell of his pectorals. 

He takes in all of it, all the little facets that make up Ryan Bergara, his best bud, his partner in crime, his brave little ghost hunter who had worked himself into a tizzy before finally speaking his mind in that tent in West Virginia but was all confidence tonight, and comes to the abrupt and somewhat terrifying conclusion that he might be a little bit gone for the guy. 

Ryan squints at him from between watery eyes, thumbing a stray teardrop from his cheek as his chuckles taper off. “That’s new,” he says, his words a little breathy with remnants of laughter.

“What is?”

Ryan drapes his arm over the back of the sofa, smiling lightly. “The way you’re lookin’ at me.” 

Shane mirrors Ryan’s position, drawing one leg up onto the couch so they can better face each other. The space between them, minuscule as it was, shrinks further. “How am I looking at you?” he asks, genuinely curious. Judging from the thoughts he’d just been entertaining he can only assume that whatever expression he’s wearing is dreadfully soppy. He hopes Ryan’s into that, because, judging from past relationships, it’s not really something he can control.

Ryan makes a show of tilting his head, studying Shane like he studies the footage from their hunts, with all the single-minded resolve of a person who knows there’s evidence and that he’s going to find it. Shane raises an eyebrow, a gentle prod for Ryan to _get on with it, buddy_ , and Ryan smirks, all cock-sure like he’s got _just_ the right theory to blow Shane’s fucking mind. “Like you want to kiss me,” he says.

“ _Hah_ ,” Cari crows in triumph. Shane glances over at the other end of the couch and feels the tips of his ears burn as he watches Cari pin Lucy to the cushion, her teeth bared in a playful snarl. Lucy huffs in mock-irritation, her tail twined around Cari’s belly, and goes limp, her soft, “You win, foxface, you win,” barely audible over the rush of endorphins in Shane’s head.

“What if I do?” he asks, reaching over to touch the collar of Ryan’s sweater, fingertips brushing against the smooth skin at the base of Ryan’s throat. It’s the first time he’s ever really touched Ryan this way: lingering, with more intent than just to comfort or reassure. He wants – he wants to rile Ryan up, in a way that he’s never really considered before, a way that has nothing to do with fear.

“I’m right here, big guy,” Ryan tells him, and Shane’s a little distracted by the movement of his chest, rising and falling beneath the tips of his fingers. Not so distracted that he doesn’t notice the tremor in Ryan’s voice, though whether it’s from fear or excitement is difficult to tell. With Ryan, the two tend to go hand in hand. “Now’s your chance.”

“Yeah?” He curls his finger in the vee of Ryan’s sweater, tugging lightly, and ducks his head. Just a little, just to see…

And there it is: Ryan's chin lifting, his lips parting. Irrefutable proof, the kind Ryan's always searching for, and here he is, giving it up to Shane so easily. There’s only one way to respond to that, and Shane takes his chance, closing his eyes just as his mouth meets Ryan's.

The touch is tentative at first, just a hint of softness and gentle pressure. New, the way Ryan's lips press against his own, the way they _feel_ , soft and just a little chapped. The way they give beneath Shane's, aided by a hint of slick as they move together, lips sliding, breath hitching. Their noses bump at one point, and Shane's soft "Sorry" is met with a huff of Ryan's laughter before a hand is curling around the nape of his neck, the palm smooth and warm as it gently pulls Shane back in. 

And _oh_ , that's better, the soft tug of Ryan's mouth mingling with the shift of his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Shane's neck, a cocktail of sensation that sends shivers down Shane's spine. 

He had worried, before, that this would be too weird. That despite everything that had led them here – their talk at Lake Shawnee, their increasing intimacy, and their willingness to give this date a shot – the reality of it would be too strange, too unfamiliar. They worked so well in every other aspect of their relationship: as friends, as coworkers, as co-hosts. What if this was where they fucked up?

Tilting his head to deepen the kiss, feeling Ryan lick at the seam of his mouth with a soft hum, Shane realizes he needn't have worried. This – the drag of Ryan’s tongue against his, the mingling of their breath, the soft noises that spill from their mouths as they kiss – is _good_ , and the way Ryan leans into his palm as Shane cups his cheek, thumbing at the bend of his jaw, is even better.

They’re slow to ease off, their separation merited more by the necessity for oxygen than anything else, though Ryan presses a last hard kiss to his lips before he pulls away completely. 

Shane grins, feeling the pull of well-used muscles as he does so. "Well, that answers that question," he says, his thumb brushing against the corner of Ryan’s mouth, red and a little swollen from their kisses.

When Ryan speaks, his bottom lip drags against Shane’s skin, soft and terribly warm. "What question?"

"Whether we'd be any good at this." 

Ryan laughs, his breath fanning against Shane’s chin, and tugs him down for another quick kiss. "Guess we can consider that mystery... solved," he murmurs in a facsimile of his theory voice, accompanied with a waggle of his eyebrows that has Shane dropping his head onto his shoulder with a muffled groan. 

"Terrible," he complains, his brow rubbing against Ryan's sweater as he shakes his head. It’s warm from Ryan’s body heat and soft against his skin, and Shane could easily fall asleep there, despite the havoc it would wreak on his spine. "Just awful. I can't believe I just kissed that mouth."

Ryan shakes with laughter beneath him, his fingers coming up to card through Shane's hair. "Get used to it, big guy. You're stuck with me."

He says it like a joke, but Shane can feel his fingers falter as they pass over his crown, and he squeezes at Ryan's shoulder blades before he pulls back, just enough to catch Ryan's gaze and ask, "Yeah? So this little trial run was a success? You wanna date, for real?"

The nervousness that had been clinging to Ryan's countenance fades in the wake of a smile, something smaller and softer than his usual fare, but no less lovely. 

"Big success," he says, his eyes crinkling in a way Shane finds utterly charming. "And yeah, I… I want to date."

"Thank fuck," Lucy sighs, and Cari snickers from within the nest she’s made of the snake daemon’s coils, wrapped comfortably around her belly and twined around her tail.

Shane reaches over Ryan's shoulder and boops Lucy’s nose, knowing she hates it. "Hush, you," he says, and then presses a kiss to Ryan’s shoulder, just because he can. The scent of his cologne is strongest here, this close to his throat, and it’s more than a little heady.

Lucy flicks her tongue at him, a prim and silent little _fuck you_ , and bends her head to nuzzle at the base of one of Cari’s ears.

Shane sticks his tongue out at her.

"Alright, alright," Ryan laughs, smoothing Shane's hair down from the carnage his fingers had wrought stroking through it. "Let's watch another movie before we have to call it a night, huh? You pick this time."

"Good plan," Shane says, dropping another kiss to Ryan’s mouth – now that he’s started, he can’t seem to fucking stop – before he unfolds his long limbs from the couch and heads into the kitchen. His back aches a bit from being draped over Ryan for too long, but it's a sacrifice he'd willingly make again. 

He comes back into the room with his fingers twined around the necks of two beers and a replenished bowl of popcorn cradled in his other hand, only to find Ryan tapping at his phone and chuckling. He passes Ryan a drink and flops onto the couch, twisting the cap on his own bottle as he asks, “What’s so funny?”

Ryan grins, his lips a little swollen and more than a little distracting because of it. "I might have let it slip to Jen, about tonight."

"Oh?" God, she’d probably been thrilled. She’d looked ready to thank more than a few deities when they’d come back into the office after their West Virginia trip and been talking again.

"She sent me this." Ryan holds out his phone to show Shane a snapchat pic of Jen with her nose practically glued to the camera. Cass, her stoat daemon, sits on top of her dark hair, his tiny teeth bared in a grin. _Well? How’d it go??_ bisects the pic in bright yellow font.

“You replied to her yet?” Shane asks, stowing his drink on the coffee table. He’ll need both hands for this.

Ryan gives him a look, the spark of mischief in eyes a welcome and expected companion to Shane’s own. “Nope,” he says, finger hovering over the reply button. "You have something in mind?" 

Shane grins. "If you're up for it."

He wishes he could see Jen’s face when she gets the message, though he can imagine it well enough, how wide her eyes will grow once she sees both of their faces smushed into the frame, Shane with his arms tossed around Ryan’s neck while he presses an exaggerated smacking kiss to Ryan’s cheek, animated hearts flying out of their heads from the tacky filter they’d slapped on it.

“That’s a keeper,” Shane croons, reaching for the remote to pick their next movie.

“Already sent it to you,” Ryan says, nudging Shane’s arm until Shane gets the picture and drapes it over the back of the couch, allowing Ryan to slump against his side, a warm, heavy weight. This too is familiar, though usually there are ghosts involved before Ryan starts disregarding personal space. Shane prefers this, the casual intimacy of a warm body pressed up against his, pliant and relaxed and totally at ease. Ryan’s so _solid_ , so warm, and Shane can still feel the tug of his mouth against his own.

He settles on an action flick, one they’ve seen about a thousand times before, and if he pays more attention to Ryan’s warmth than the explosions happening on screen, well, no one but Lucy has to know.


End file.
